


signs of life

by shepherd



Series: breaking thrones, breaking backs [2]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Sexual Content, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-02
Updated: 2013-09-02
Packaged: 2017-12-25 10:41:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/952112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shepherd/pseuds/shepherd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mavin Secret Agent AU. After the events of the previous story, Michael and Ray have committed themselves to finding Gavin, Barbara, and the illusive and mysterious Ryan Haywood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	signs of life

The girl was beautiful, and she was his. That was all the man- no, the boy- cared about. Her face was flawless, her skin clear, her body to die for in that daring red dress, a sheath of silk. She was flirty, she was bold. She was also intelligent, skilled, funny- but her beauty and depravity was all he cared about.

The candles on their table flickered, casting a soft glow that seemed to waver and jump. Otherwise, it was dark. The crescent moon shone outside, high in the dark velvet sky. The restaurant was silent and empty, bar the chefs scurrying in the kitchen and the waiter who had given them privacy. Their private dinner was uninterrupted, by their request.

His hand reached over the table and grasped hers, feeling the smooth, moisturized skin and the cold metal of the bracelet around her wrist. It was a gift from him, several months ago, and he had never seen her without it. She clearly treasured it. He smiled at her, and told her he loved her. Everything about her. The scent of her sweet perfume was strong in his nose. She smiled, and leant forward and kissed him, and she knew it was the last lie he would ever tell.

He excused himself to the men’s room, and she bowed her head and granted his absence- and as soon as he was out of her sight, she removed her necklace quickly, pulling it over her head. She broke the deep purple stone, the fake amethyst out of it’s silver case and cracked it in her palms like a nut, and poured it’s liquid contents into his glass. She shoved the chain and the broken stone back into her purse, and picked at her plate of food, somewhat apprehensively. Now, all she had to do was wait.

He returned, and he didn’t question the sudden absence of jewelry. Either he didn’t notice, or didn’t care. She knew that both were equally likely.

It took awhile, but she managed to coax him into a toast. Their glasses click together, a sudden ringing noise in the stillness of the quiet, and their mouths say ‘to us’ while their minds both say ‘to me’. He took a deep drink, and she took deeper, and her wine tasted like victory.

It only took a few heartbeats.

Grinning, she plucked a baby tomato from his plate, the salad he never touched, and she devoured it whole. He asked ‘what’s so funny?’ and she didn’t reply.

The blonde woman smiled, her lips curving into some graceful expression of pleasure, and the man- no, the boy- choked, rasped, and died.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael hadn’t been sleeping well. No one blamed him.

His bed was perfectly comfortable, with thick fluffy pillows and a soft duvet, and before what everyone knew simply as the Incident occurred, he slept easily. It was important that agents were well rested. If they were caught off guard in a firefight or accidently missed something tiny but vital, it could ruin an investigation or lead to an accident. It was necessary that Michael and the others got a good nights sleep as regularly as possible.

Michael knew this rule, and he obeyed it easily.

But then again, he thought he knew about the ‘don’t get fooled by a pretty face’ rule, and he was deceived by the prettiest face of them all. It still haunted his dreams.

Whenever he did manage to get to sleep- which was rare- he found himself dreaming about a worn briefcase, dark red, almost black wine, a crooked smile and a heated touch. Sometimes, he dreamed of the piercing gunshot, and he awoke with a scream, tasting a mix of fruit and Ray’s blood on his tongue. Most times, he jerked awake when he felt a hand slide up his belly to his chest, and then eased it’s way back down, blunt nails teasing his pliant skin. Those times, he woke up flushed and panting, his cock hard in his pajama pants.

He hated himself for it. He despised the fact that two weeks on, the memory was still fresh, as if it had only occurred yesterday, and he was ashamed that his body still wanted Gavin after everything that had happened. He would crawl out of bed and throw himself into a chilly shower, water like icicles pattering on his skin, like thousands of needles piercing and punishing his body for the thoughts. It worked, but the dreams would come again. They always did.

He had been trying ways to get himself to sleep before bed. He took long and warm baths, letting his tense muscles relax. He listened to soothing music or read a few pages of a book before bed, when he usually would have been playing video games, and tried breathing exercises. He even searched for porn on his laptop to try and ease his tension, hunting for a man the direct opposite of Gavin, and maybe not being so successful. Either way, he tried everything apart from sleeping pills. He didn’t want to start relying on those- but if nothing else worked, he was desperate, and he would do anything.

Nothing else worked, and the idea of pills was becoming more and more appealing.

But he tried his best that Thursday night- he had that soothing bath, played that music he hated and he had that wank, and he definitely didn’t think of those teeth on his throat when he came with a choked groan- and he felt his eyes growing heavy, and the exhaustion take over. He hadn’t slept properly in those two weeks, and now he was finally going to get some rest. He smiled as he curled up on his side, dwarfed by the duvet, finally falling into the sweet release of dreams, where he had no problems or cares until the sun rose.

So he felt his frustration and ire was well deserved when he finally managed to get more than five hours of uninterrupted sleep, and he was awoken by the sound of his mobile jingling on the side of his bed. It no longer chirped. It brought back the memories that Michael could have certainly done without.

He awoke instantly, shifting in his sheets, blinking blearily. It took a second to recall what had woken him- and when the memory seeped in he growled in the darkness and the silence of his bedroom. He turned his head to his bedside table, seeing the phone with it’s green light flashing but not yet going for it- instead, he looked at the clock which read four twenty-three AM in vivid red numbers. He felt an abundance of hatred for whichever bastard decided to text him at this ridiculous time in the morning. He pressed a hand to his warm forehead, smoothing it down, feeling the skin of his nose bend, as if to wipe away the sleepiness. He sat up, stretching, allowing himself to yawn long and loud.

He wasn’t going to fall back asleep now. He needn’t bother trying.

Michael reached out for his mobile, grasping the cool metal of the device in his hand. The screen flared up, stinging Michael’s unprepared eyes and displaying the time and the bright red background, and ‘one new text from Ray’. So Ray was the one to text me at this inconsiderate time. He thought mockingly. How unexpected.

He mentally prepared himself before opening it, expecting some stupid youtube video or meme that Ray would find hysterical but Michael would find abject. Probably something ruining My Little Pony for him. It wouldn’t have been the first time. He sighed heavily, his thumb nail scratching at the already banged up mental, and abruptly opened the text, preparing himself for the worst, most explicit attached image he could imagine.

He found something very unexpected.

We think we’ve found him, the text read, black against the white glowing screen, and with that Michael was up and energised, kicking off the sheets and running to his dresser, his mind running through dozens of possibilities and plans and actions.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael yanked off his thick earmuffs and the ridiculous earwear he hated when Ray arrived, spinning around and watching him step almost jauntily down the stairs two at a time, and snarled “Tell me everything you know.”

Ray practically sauntered down and towards him, a spring to his step- or was it a limp from his still healing wound?- and a cat ate the canary grin on his lips. He clutched a thick yellow folder to his chest, holding it delicately like a parent would a newborn child. If it was what he thought it was, he completely understood. That information was precious.

Michael watched the fellow agent eye him up and down, taking in everything. He saw his dark eyes linger on the 9mm pistol he clutched in his hand. “You look mad.” He commented, and Michael huffed and rolled his eyes.

“That’s because I am mad.” He informed him. He had been nothing but mad and humiliated those past two weeks, taking his frustration out on target practise dummies and idiotic new agents who got under his feet at the wrong time. He had one hell of a reputation with them now, and he knew that the experienced agents had added ‘stay the hell away from Agent Jones’ on their list ‘top ten tips on staying alive in your first week’. Rightly so.

“Good,” Ray’s smile widened. “Because so am I.” He tapped two of his fingers against the file he carried, and Michael saw the way it had ‘classified information’ emblazoned on it. If that didn’t pique his curiosity, nothing would. That must be it. “Come on, over here.” Ray jerked his head across the empty room, towards a small bunch of plain metal tables and metal chairs on the other side. They were famously uncomfortable, and all the agents hated them with equal fervor, but Michael followed Ray nonetheless. Ray immediately lounged on one seat, propping his feet up on another, but he didn’t relinquish his hold on the file. Michael took the seat opposite him silently, perching more than anything, ready to abruptly stand at any given moment. He placed the earmuffs on the back of his neck but never let go of the gun.

“So?” He prompted. “Out with it.”

Ray released his grip on the file, and he laid it on the table, opening it up and splaying it’s paper contents across the table. Michael shuffled closer, pulling his chair around to see it. There were two photos of a very familiar woman- he blinked away the sudden memories that assaulted his brain, a bold flash of red and a pleased giggle- and a long file on her history and previous arrests, and Michael barely had time to even attempt to glance at either before Ray was speaking.

“Our little lady, Barbara Dunkleman.” Ray reintroduced the two, tapping his finger onto the first of her photos. It was the photo of her at a line up, clutching the board with her name spelt in block capitals. Her face was carefully blank, as was required, but even in the still photo he could see the way her eyes gleamed. In another vivid burst of colourful memory, he remembered the way she smirked when she hung up the phone, the way her painted lips curved into a smile of intense satisfaction. “Twenty four years old. She’s had a history of arrests, most notably theft and aggravated assault, but every time she’s taken into custody she’s always been provided with either an airtight alibi, provided bail or been rescued by the same lawyer every time- this guy Michael ‘Burnie’ Burns. Hardass, apparently.” Ray looked up at Michael, an excitable grin on his face. “I’ve been going around, talking to people and Kara has been digging and we think she’s an ex freelance assassin who might be working for this Haywood guy.”

Michael leant back in his seat and crossed his arms against his chest, staring down at her pictures again. “How did you find her? Aren’t assassins supposed to be discreet?”

“She is, mostly. We have a bit of evidence linking her to a few mysterious deaths over the past six years, but it’s never been enough to secure a conviction.” Ray lifted his hands over his head and sighed, stretching a little. “God knows how many people she’s killed. She’s resourceful, intelligent, a damn good actress.” He laughed, his tone bitter. “I suppose we can attest to that, right?”

Michael planted his elbow on the table, feeling in the intense cold and discomforting but ignoring it. He pressed his knuckles into his temple, and scowled. An assassin, he thought, his mind racing. It made sense, he supposed, even Geoff had his own assassins for very special circumstances, Michael was basically a glorified assassin himself, but if that was true, why hadn’t Barbara killed them?

He recalled vivid pressure on his cheek, warm fingers pinching the soft skin lightly, and the phantom taste of blood was on his tongue once more. I didn’t want to, Gavin’s smooth voice reverberated in his head, and he tried not to hiss at the memory. I really like you. But I had to. “I don’t want to kill you,” Michael remembered, speaking slowly, and he winced when he thought he spoke with Gavin’s soft tones. “But I will.”

Ray’s face twisted, a small and embittered smile shifting and contorting into a deep, ugly scowl. “I still can’t fucking believe that happened.” He glared down at the girl’s picture, and Michael half expected the thing to erupt into flames and crumble into ashes. “If you had just taken the briefcase back and not thought ‘hey, let’s get laid’ then we wouldn’t have-”

“Yeah, I got the fucking idea, thanks.” Michael spat back, interrupting, his famous temper flaring. His grip on the gun he still held tightened, and it felt like it was carved from black ice against the heat of him palms. “You don’t think I got enough shit from Geoff? Or enough sideways glances from every fucker in this joint?”

“Seriously, man, if you had just-”

“I got it!” He exploded, the volume of his voice shooting up, echoing in the empty room. Ray didn’t quite flinch away, but he recoiled noticeable, his eyes widening a fraction. He had seen Michael yell several times, at least half of those times explicitly at him- but he hadn’t faced Michael’s ire alone before, especially not on such a delicate topic.“I fucking got it! You don’t think I fucking regret it? I got poisoned and you got shot, of course I damn well regret it. Stop treating me like a fucking idiot.”

Ray stared at him for a long moment, his eyes carefully empty of any emotion, and Michael couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He hated it, and the long few seconds that followed were the most awkward and apprehension filled of his life. Eventually, his friend sighed, a heavy exhale, and gave him a tight lipped smile. “It better have been fucking good sex, man. And we better catch these assholes.”

Michael’s returning smile was forced, and just as careful. It was the best I’d ever had, he considered saying, truthfully. He remembered how his orgasm tore through him, how he slipped on the slick sweat and how everything went white, and he had to think of vehemently unsexy things to stop his dick from getting hard right there. But that would have been weird. “We’ll catch them,” he said instead. “I promise.” He shook his head, willing the thoughts away into the dark corner of his head. “Moving on. We’ve spoken too much about Dunkleman. What has this got to do with him?”

“Considering the fact they seemed quite close during the, uh, Incident, if we find her we’ll no doubt find him a few steps behind.” He told him. “We don’t know anything about him, at all, but even if he isn’t behind her we’ll find this Ryan Haywood guy. When we find him,” Ray’s smile turned predatory, sharp toothed. “We learn all about him, and find everyone who has ever worked for him.”

"How did you catch up with her?"

"Well," There was a sudden gleam in Ray’s eye, one that Michael knew well. It promised a long and often roundabout but ultimately interesting story. "I was hanging out with Joel last night-"

Michael barked out a laugh, throwing back his head. “Right. Hanging out. Cool.” He raised his hands and made inverted commas when he said ‘hanging out’, his grin teasing. Ray reached out and whacked his bicep, shooting him a fierce and dark look. “Shut up, this is an interesting story. Anyway, we were hanging out,” He made sure to put extreme emphasis on those two words, “And he started bitching and whining about the stock market, right?”

"As usual."

"As usual." Ray echoed, nodding his head eagerly. "He started whining because he got something wrong. Some stock he anticipated doing really well started going shitty, and I taunted him for it, you know, as you do, and he got all sulky and cold-shouldered and insisted that it was ‘outside events’ that were unpredictable and not his fault. Now, I don’t give a shit about all his stocks-"

"You’re more interested in getting into his pants." Michael interrupted, grinning roguishly, and he chuckled at the death glare he was sent. "I’m done. I promise. Continue."

"I don’t give a shit, so I stop listening- but later on when we’re watching the news," Remind me never to go on a date with Joel Heyman, Michael thought, while watching the news does sound fascinating I have grass I need to watch grow. “I hear the name of this stock group that failed- and it turns out that the son of the owner, guy called Thomas Oakley recently got killed, murdered apparently, and everyone’s staying away from him because the owner’s kind of old and they expected him to pass down the stocks to his prodigal son. Because he’s dead now, they’re expecting it to crumble.”

Michael held a hand up high, stopping his friend from continuing. He had a habit of speaking too quickly for people to keep up once he got going, but Michael wasn’t interested. He was scowling. “I don’t get how any of this is relevant to Dunkleman.”

"Well, I got kinda curious, and I started researching and asking around- and it turned out, on the night of Oakley’s murder, he went on a date, at that Nolan restaurant. He was real secretive about it, and they had the whole restaurant booked- they could afford it," He clarified at Michael’s choke of surprise, his own expression equally as disbelieving. Nolan’s was probably the most ridiculously priced place in the state, and his hurt his head to think about how much renting the entire restaurant would have cost. "And they brought the woman in around the back way so no one would see this chick, right? They ordered their food so they wouldn’t be seen by a waiter- the problem was, the waiter was noisy little shit- he snapped the chick’s picture so he could sell it to the paparazzi. Then a couple hours later, he checked back because he couldn’t hear any noise and they were taking a long time- and the waiter found Oakley dead, face down, and the woman nowhere to be seen."

Michael sat up, his brows furrowed. “How did he die?”

Rays eyes shone. “Poison. Not sure which type yet, but it was poison.”

Michael wasn’t stupid. He put two and two together, and came up with four. He ran his hand through his copper coloured hair, and huffed. “Dunkleman.”

Ray grinned, and thumped his finger against the second photo. Michael looked- it was Dunkleman and a young, handsome and fresh faced man sitting together outside a cafe, under an umbrella to protect themselves from the Texas heat. They looked like a fairly everyday, albeit insanely rich young couple- she was dressed for the summer in a brightly patterned dress, while decked out with jewelry, and he wore a light coloured shirt and hat with famous and expensive brands plastered all over them. Her smile was easy and genuine, while his face was creased with what looked like irritation. His hand was resting atop hers on the table, but his fingers were caught ghosting along her bracelet rather than the skin of her wrist. He looked like a grade A, wealth and beauty obsessed asshole in Michael’s opinion. Considering the weather, the photo must have been taken at least a couple of months ago- and potentially pretending to be in a relationship for several months before finally murdering the target was risky, and showed her dedication to her work. Despite everything that had happened, he was impressed. “Dunkleman.” Ray confirmed.

“Will we be able to find her? She’ll still be in the city, right?”

“Yup.” Ray laced his fingers together and stretched them, his knuckles and joints cracking and popping in the silence of the empty room. “And we’ll be able to get our revenge.”

Michael hummed, the smile of satisfaction already playing on his lips. His thumb stroked absentmindedly over the barrel of the gun, the metal cool under his warm skin. He thought of those wide green eyes filled with confidence, dreamed about watching them change, warping into fear and desperation. He imagined those smooth British tones begging for mercy- mercy he wouldn’t give. “When we find him, I’m going to kill him.” Michael promised, sitting up in his chair. It was more uncomfortable than he remembered, but he was distracted with thoughts of blood and revenge. “You can kill her, I don’t care about the girl. But he’s mine.”

Ray rumbled his disagreement. “He shot me, just in case you had forgotten.”

"I had sex with him." Michael snapped back, his voice deafeningly loud again, echoing into each corner of the room. "I put my trust in him, and he threw it back in my face and fucking poisoned me." He glowered across the table at Ray, his hand curling around his weapon. "You can get some hits in before I do, we’ll have to torture him for information first, but he’s mine to kill."

Clearly unwilling to get into another argument, Ray leant back and sighed, his hand going to his forehead and rubbing firmly as if trying to rid himself of an insistent migraine. “Fine.” He allowed. “But I get to make him pay for as long as I like, as long as I keep him alive. I have a reputation to uphold.”

Michael nodded in confirmation. “So do I. You can do what you want to him. But I’m the one who’s killing him.”

Ray only hummed in response, and gathered up the sheets of paper again, carefully tucking it back into the folder. He neatened up the pictures carefully before closing it, and clutching it to his chest once more to keep it safe. “I have to go and return this,” He said at Michael’s questioning look. “I wasn’t really supposed to have it. Agents aren’t supposed to be involved in jobs that affect them personally, and all that.”

“You took it without permission?” Michael asked, somewhat aghast. if Geoff found out, they would be in even more trouble than they already were.

“No.” Ray rose, pushing the chair out from behind him with a screech. It sounded like a lion was dragging his claws against the floor of the cage he was kept prisoner in. The man smiled down at him, all innocence. “Joel did.” With that, he turned on his heel and practically danced off back towards the stairs, and Michael could imagine the shiteating grin on his face.

“Jesus Christ, you must suck his cock like a god.” Michael yelled after him, hoping to get a rise out of him because God he wanted more detail about how the hell Joel managed to sneak that by Geoff, but Ray let the insult die at his feet. He only laughed in response, and Michael heard him take the steps again, his footfalls echoing unevenly, his injured foot coming down lighter than the other. Eventually, as he grew further away, the sound trickled off into silence.

Michael stepped out of the chair, never missing the discomfort, and walked across the room again, shaking his head at his friend’s antics and leaving the chairs splayed out uncaringly. He checked the amount of bullets in the magazine carefully, counting seven more. He approached the firing range once more and looked up, carefully pushing the magazine back up until it clicked, gazing at the target practise seat across the rest of the long room. He reached up to his neck, gripping hold of the ear muffs that still hung there and carefully placed them over his ears, neatening his curls over the band. He slid on the eye protection again over his glasses, making sure they would slip loose.

He positioned himself carefully, putting his feet apart but not too far, making sure not to stiffen up his shoulders or lock his elbows. The recoil played agonizing havoc with his body the first time he shot a gun, when he hadn’t been shown how to properly stand. He remembered the way Geoff gripped his shoulders after he had recovered, moulding his body into to ideal shape when he noted his shoulders were uneven and his arms were far too tense. He still remembered that good advice now, several years on after he had killed dozens of men and shot hundreds of bullets.

He gazed at the target sheet, the shape of a human male with a target upon it’s chest, the bullseye directly in the centre. It wasn’t hard to imagine it as a living, breathing human being. Sometimes, when he trained with other agents, they confessed that to improve their aim they imagined the target was someone they loathed. Sure, it didn’t work in the field in the heat and intensity of a shootout, but it helped them steady themselves. Some imagined an ex-lover, someone who betrayed them, or someone who lied. It was easy for Michael to imagine Gavin, because he was all three.

In his mind he gave the featureless silhouette a crooked and charming grin, a strangely large but endearing nose and large expressive eyes that somehow still held the darkest secrets. He modified it’s shape, giving it a slim waist and long legs, and he imagined tufts of soft dark hair falling forward into his forehead. He saw Gavin there in that instant, and the feeling of rage and betrayal and abandonment blinded him, a kind of red fog falling like a theatre curtain in front of his eyes.

He steadied the pistol in his hands, and he began to fire, squeezing the trigger. He barely felt the recoil or heard the shots, but he steadied the gun whenever it jumped, and emptied the bullets into the sheet, still seeing it as Gavin. He stared it down, imagining the way Gavin’s body would convulse with the sheer force of the bullet’s entering his body, imagining the shock and fear in his eyes and imagine the spray of blood. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven.

Lost inside the morbid daydream, he found himself still pulling the trigger when the magazine was empty, lulled into a kind of trace by the sharp clicking emerging from the useless weapon. He jerked himself out of it, blinking the darkness away, and gradually lowered the gun. He stared at the sheet for a minute, even though it was too far away to see his results, and did nothing but breathe.

Eventually, he sighed softly, and put the gun to one side. His hands didn’t tremble. He removed the glasses and the earmuffs and put them beside the weapon, done with training for the day. He was done with the day in general, and the clock against the wall only read half past one in the afternoon. He pressed a button on the wall, harder than was really necessary, and he heard the whirring of mechanics, and he saw the sheet jump and then move, coming towards him slowly but surely. He waited, crossing his arms against his chest and ignoring the tension that built and amplified in his guts.

He inspected it carefully when it slowed to a halt, the rage gradually dimming, turning from a forest fire to a candle’s gentle burn,and then the flame was quenched. He found many of the shots clustered around the centre, some overlapping each other directly in the centre, with a few sprayed around or falling just outside of the target. None of them missed the human shape.

He thought of Gavin like this, broken and bleeding on the floor, and he smiled.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Barbara Dunkleman leant forward, gazing into the shop’s window with a sunny smile on her face, almost pressing her nose against the artfully frosted glass. She carefully set her bags down on the pavement by her booted feet- she held three in each hand, all of vary shapes and sizes and weights, all from different shops. In retrospect, she wished she had thought to bring Gavin along. He was always good to bring along- he was the perfect pack mule and very good at standing there looking pretty, despite how much he whined and complained.

She pulled her thick coat closer, still shivering in the chilly night. She was just grateful it had yet to snow. She still had so much shopping to do, and trudging around in either freshly fallen snow or day old grey sludge would not have brought a smile to her face. But it had to be done, in rain or shine, and here she was.

The jewellery shop had been decorated for Christmas, the event only two weeks away now. Barbara guessed that they were raking it in at this point- selling presents for spouses, family, and engagement rings for seasonal proposals. She could see that the inside of the shop was spick and span, not a fleck of dust or single misplaced object to be seen. Huge, colourful baubles dangled from every corner, coral blues and forest greens and blood reds. Little mini reindeers and a santa made of plastic beamed up at her, somewhat creepily. Barbara returned the smile tenfold. Fake snow was dusted along the display board neatly and evenly, like flour on a baker’s counter, and shockingly bright signs advertised sales and deals and brand new, allegedly ‘crazy’ prices on gift insurance.

The object that held her attention was a necklace, tied carefully around the slender, pale neck of the top half of a mannequin. The chain was thin and silver, and long, reaching down so the pendant was resting a little over where the swell of the mannequin’s breasts would have been. The pendant itself was a beautiful flower, steel acting as it’s sharp petals, with the deepest ruby Barbara had ever seen set in the centre. It was gorgeous- and going by the sticker resting just above it, incredibly expensive even with the price cut for the holiday. A pair of matching earrings lay by its side, shining under the shop’s artificial lights, living flame appearing to twist and dance inside the ruby.

Barbara’s eyes gleamed dangerously, and she reached up to run a hand along her throat under her scarf, currently bare of jewelry. She needed a new necklace, after her last job. The only other one she owned was an ugly thing in her eyes- irregular chunks of cyan coloured stone on a thinning grey thread. With this new necklace, the centerpiece could easily be prised off and replaced with one of her many poison capsules, and could be placed on a ring instead. It would be practical, and she could afford the beautiful object- with her last job, she could afford anything she desired, within reason- but whether or not she wanted to pay for it was another matter entirely.

She surveyed the defences and the security around the building, pretending to be looking at the shop’s sign, opening a third eye of sorts. She saw the cameras watching the street she stood on and the empty road behind her, and several camera’s inside hidden well in the corners, but not well enough. They pointed in three directions- out to the door, out to the back room, and where the cashier stood, a sweet faced young girl with her nose in what appeared to be a thick and well worn horror novel. Barbara knew there would be a panic button hidden underneath the desk- there always was. She noted the thickness of the glass and the way the door into the small, likely family owned business was heavy and had an intercom beside it. Breaking in would be tricky, as she wasn’t sure if she would have the time before Christmas.

Either way, I’ll be back for you, beautiful, she thought, grinning at the prospect. The people working inside must have thought she was incredibly indecisive, or simply fucking crazy, but Barbara didn’t find herself caring. What else can I steal? Why the hell not? She shifted her eyes to the right eagerly, turning to gaze at a few of the admittedly gorgeous cuff links on display, thinking of Gavin and wondering if they could contain a poison capsule because that man got himself into far more sticky situations than Barbara thought possible- and then she froze in place.

In the reflection of the glass, she could see two men, standing directly across the road, one standing in front of the bakers and another the public library. They stood far apart, several strides away as if they didn’t know one another, but Barbara knew better. She knew all of their tricks. She watched, eagle eyed as one reached up to touch their ear, carefully hidden inside the thick and dark hoodie he wore, and even in the darkness of the late evening she saw his mouth move. She waited for a while, holding her breath and pretending to be considering a pair of silver cufflinks shaped like dice, and watched as the other man immediately touched his own ear the moment the other stopped speaking, his own mouth beginning to move. They never tore their gaze away from her. Gotcha, she thought.

She took a brief moment to compose herself, tucking a stray lock of gold behind her ear as she felt the surge of uncontrollable panic rise, something all too familiar. She took a deep breath, and searched the rest of the street in the reflection of the glass, looking for more potential threats. She found none. Good. Barbara crouched a little, pretending to peer closer, but her hands carefully wrapped themselves back around the handles of her bags, praying that the men didn’t notice. They didn’t, and she immediately moved, turning on her heel and leaving, striding across the pavement. Her boots and the rustling of her bags were uncomfortably loud, but she kept moving, acting natural. She moved down the street as quickly as she could.

She didn’t know where she was going, no immediate destination coming to her mind, but she couldn’t stay there any longer. Now, she wished she really had brought Gavin. They could have split up, taken a man each and easily lost them within minutes. But she couldn’t lose two men on her own, especially without a plan.

She had two blades carefully hidden in her jacket, as she always did. Fighting her way out of danger was a possibility- but it would have been messy, and messy fights were certainly not her forte. She liked to plant her trap and spring it while her victim was blissfully unaware. Barbara could fight well, she would never put herself at risk if she couldn’t, but there would be abandoned bodies of potential police officers and an investigation and probing questions that she wouldn’t be able to answer. And while Gavin and Dan, Burnie and all the others would have her back, she knew if things got too complicated, Ryan would throw her to the wolves without question in order to save everyone else.

Barbara swore to herself, her voice hushed in the quiet and the stillness of the night. She didn’t know if the men were following her. They probably were, they were watching her like hawks. She couldn’t go home- they would follow her, maybe get a warrant to search her property, and she couldn’t let that happen, not with all the shit she had in her basement. She wouldn’t stay with Gavin, either- she wasn’t going to drag him into this and let whoever was following her know where he lived. She could maybe stay in a hotel for a few nights, but that would only raise suspicion.

What the hell am I going to do?

In an abrupt spur of a moment decision, suddenly decided when she saw an alleyway between two buildings coming up, she turned, and she ducked into it, not caring as she stepped in a deeper than anticipated puddle and splashed dirty water up her jeans. It was dark and it was narrow, and she intended to double back on the high street and attempt to disappear into the library. Even if they found her again, they wouldn’t disturb her in a public place. If she lost them, she would get home as quickly as possible and contact Ryan. It was as good a plan as any, she supposed. It was a shame she never got the chance to try it out.

“Ma’am,” A voice said in her ear when she was halfway up the alley, the voice out of breath and exasperated and highly patronizing as a heavy and scarred hand fell on her shoulder, and she whirled around and lashed out, her long painted nails clawing down the side of his face like talons.

“Don’t touch me!” She shrieked, making sure her voice was clear and letting it reverberate in the alley. She was intentionally hysterical, her eyes deliberately wide. He staggered backwards, crying out a curse in surprise, and her nails were warm and wet and red. She hadn’t intended that, but she enjoyed the ebb of satisfaction it gave her. “Don’t!”

“Ma’am!” Another, more urgent voice called from behind her- and she started, turning to stare. Another man, a third that she didn’t recognise and hadn’t seen in the street beforehand had emerged from the other side of the alley, coming close but heeding her warning and not touching her. For a second, she thought she was saved- but then she took in the wholly practical way he dressed, the way his clothes seemed to merge with the night’s shadows, and she knew he was with them. “Ma’am, please calm down, we don’t want to hurt you.”

Knowing that playing the role of a frightened young woman wouldn’t help her now, she changed her masks, narrowing her eyebrows and tensing up her shoulders. “Then what the hell was that?” She burst, keeping her voice loud, not going down without a fight. “He just grabbed me!” The man with the scratches had said nothing, but she could feel the way he seethed behind her. likely clutching his cheek and glaring daggers.

“I’m sorry, ma’am.” The new man held up his palms in supplication, and Barbara could hear another set of footsteps quickly coming up behind her. Fuck. “That was unprofessional of him, I apologise on his behalf.”

She could hear grumbling, something along the lines of unprofessional my ass, fuck you, but it went ignored by them all. Barbara planted her hands on her hips firmly, sliding one hand a little up her waist so if the whole meeting went sideways she could grab for her weapons- but she had very little chance against three others, and she knew it. “Who the hell are you?” She snarled. “What the hell is going on?”

“We’re the police.” A voice behind her explained, and she rounded on him, revealing one of the two men from before. She didn’t like turning her back on the other man, but she didn’t have any choice- and she preferred having one man out of her sight than two of them, one of which she had pissed off. She felt distinctly uncomfortable, boxed in like a wild animal, and very unsafe. “We just want to talk to you.”

“Really.” She said, her voice as dry as sandpaper.

“Really.” The man behind her confirmed.

“Show me your badge.” She demanded through gritted teeth, trying to make herself seem bigger, taking in every single thing about the men around her. All three of them were pretty bulky looking, but that might have been the thickness of their winter clothing. All were either below or around her height. One of them seemed to notice her eyeing them carefully, and watched her warily while he reached into his pocket for a badge.

They all flashed them to her, and she gazed at each of them individually for several seconds. They were all legitimate, and they made the soft hairs on the back of her neck prickle and stand on end. She tried to kid herself that it was just the cold, but deep down she knew it was fear, plain and simple. “Okay.” She said carefully, slowly. “What do you want from me?”

“We’d like to have a chat.” The man behind her said, and she turned her head to him, feeling like she was watching a tennis match. “We’d like you to come back to the station with us.”

She turned her head again, and she steeled her gaze and hardened her words. “Why?” She flicked her eyes between the man with the bleeding cheek and the other- and she saw the way the other, a man with salt and pepper hair stared at her wrist, which was adorned with the heavy silver bracelet and dotted with amber coloured stones. She shifted uncomfortably under this intense gaze and crossed her hand across her stomach almost protectively. The bracelet felt suddenly three times as heavy, and she became painfully aware of it’s existence.

“We just want to ask you a few questions,” The staring man said, and before she could think of a good excuse or a snarky comeback, she didn’t care which, everything changed.

Another man stepped into the alley, and she caught a flash of his face under the streetlight, and her thrumming heart switched residence from her heart to her throat.

“Is this her?” The man with the bleeding cheek asked the newcomer, red dribbling down the curve, running down his jaw. “She has the bracelet.”

The man she had shot two weeks ago smiled, the expression sickly sweet, and nodded. “That’s her,” He said, and he sounded very different when he wasn’t screaming obscenities at her. “Barbara Dunkleman.”

The world slipped away from under her usually steady feet, and she was acutely aware of everything falling down and smashing to sharp, jagged pieces around her.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael held his face in his hands, and tried not to panic.

He was sat at the counter in his kitchen, perched on a seat, trying to keep calm. He had been up and down the length of his kitchen so many times he was genuinely surprised that he had not worn a groove in the floor. He was too jittery to sit still. He hadn’t yet eaten dinner even though the sun had long since fallen in the sky, and he knew he was hungry and that busying his hands would be a good distraction, but he couldn’t. He knew that he would be able to swallow and single morsel, and he was so distracted he might have accidentally injure himself- cutting himself accidently or resting his hand on the stove. He grew clumsy while agitated, and that only made him angry. All in all, upset and furious was not a good mix.

Come on, he urged telepathically. Call me, you fucking asshole. I’m literally crawling the walls here.

Well, not literally. He had been moving around the kitchen and occasionally kicking his poor abused freezer, leaving small dents and scuff marks over the smooth door, but the walls were untouched- but he didn’t know for how much longer. The man had promised to call as soon as he and the police had arrested their assassin, and Michael was confident that the boys in blue weren’t going to get under their feet too much- but there was always at least one idiot in the force, and it only took that one moron to let one person slip away and evade arrest. He had encountered that particular brand of idiot too many times.

The clock kept on ticking ominously, Ray still had yet to call and Michael passed the time by creating the most cruelest, rudest and most inventive names to call Ray when he finally fucking called him.

Then, he called, and all of those names he painstakingly prepared and the rageful speech he had concocted all immediately flew out of his mind to be replaced with panic.

Michael’s phone rattled and jingled against the cold marble counter, and it was the first time in a long time that he had been happy to hear it ring. He sntached it up eagerly, almost knocking it off and sending it skidding along the tiled kitchen floor, and accepted the call, flying it up to his ear.

“Yeah?” He spoke eagerly and quickly, his voice almost a garbled and frantic mess. He heard a low and languid laugh on the other end, the epitome of relaxation.

“Have you been staring at the phone and freaking out since I left?” Ray asked, chortling, and Michael looked up at the clock. It now read ten minutes to midnight, and Ray had left at half past nine.

“No.” he lied, and judging by the crowing sound Ray made, it didn’t convince him. “What happened?”

“Miss Dunkleman is now in custody.” Ray practically purred down the line, and Michael felt a great weight that he barely noticed was there lift from his shoulders. He leant back in his chair, ignoring the way it dug uncomfortably into his spine, and covered his face with a hand. He dragged his hand down his face slowly, as if wiping away all of his worries. “I’m guessing by the silence that you’re leaning back and almost crying with relief.” He paused. “Or Ryan Haywood is one step ahead of us and he’s sent someone to kill you. If this has happened I’d prefer to be told, not left hanging.”

Michael wasn’t that much of an ass. He laughed. “Nah, I’m here. That’s great news. Did she put up a fight?”

“She was verbally aggressive for a while, but when she saw me the blood drained from her face. She gave it up after then. And guess what?”

“What?”

“She had weapons.” Ray said, awfully smugly. “Two knives hidden in her coat. We could have just issued a search and arrested her on that alone.”

“Jesus Christ, this is getting better and better. Come over to mine.” Michael commanded him, hopping around the kitchen, a wide grin on his face. He felt a bit of a fool, but it was the best news he had heard in a long while. “We’ll celebrate. I have beer. We’ll order pizza, get some coke for your nondrinking pansy self, play games.”

“I do love ordering pizza, playing games and being a pansy.” Ray hummed, sarcastically wistful, and Michael chuckled. “We’ll talk about this more when I’m over. I’ll be there in twenty.”

With a single click, Ray hung up, and Michael let him cheer, long and loud, the noise echoing in his kitchen.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

The next day, the dark truck slowed to a gradual halt, pulling up the kerb, and it visibly attracted several curious looks from civilians walking on by. Michael stared out of the blacked out window, watching a small boy in an Angry Birds shirt try to waddle closer, his eyes full of wonder- and his father grabbed hold of his arm and dragged him back, eyeing the vehicle carefully.

In the drivers seat, Griffon Ramsey hummed, her eyes shining. “Cute.” She said, and Ray laughed. The boy was pulled away, up the street until he disappeared from sight, but he never looked away from the van.

“Maybe one day he’ll be an agent.” The man spoke, checking himself over, tightening the straps on his bulletproof vest and triple checking his weapon. Michael did the same, only half listening. “James Bond, or some shit.”

You’re British enough to be James Bond, a voice murmured in Michael’s head, but he pushed it away. He didn’t hear Griffon’s reply. He concerned himself with the fact that in there waited the answer to every question that had plagued him the last two weeks, an archive of information that would lead him to revenge. He reminded himself not to look so eager.

“Welp. Here we go.” Ray beamed, hiding his weapon under a suit jacket and flashing Michael a playful grin. “Let’s go get her.” He opened his car door and slid out, like a snake, and slammed it shut behind him. Michael checked himself one last time, knowing Griffon was watching him in the mirror, and went to follow Ray out of the car and up to the police station.

“Michael,” Griffon called after him when his legs were halfway out of the car, and he leant his head back to look at her questioningly. “Don’t fuck any of this up, whatever you do.” Griffon told him, her eyes wide and earnest. “If you lose Barbara somehow or if Geoff finds out, it’s mine and Joel’s neck on the line with yours and Ray’s. We shouldn’t be letting you do this.”

Michael pursed his lips. If it were anyone else, he would have considered punching them in the face and storming out of the car, the fact he was relying on them if things went pear shaped be damned- but he liked Griffon. She was a good woman, a great agent, and her husband’s soul mate and partner in crime. “I know.” He said, honestly. “And I’m grateful. We won’t balls this up, I promise.”

She nodded at him, and a smile graced her features. “Good.” She tipped her head towards the open door, and Michael was aware of Ray and the rest of the nameless agents jogging up the steps to the station, none of them noticing that Michael was among them nor hot on their heels. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

For humour’s sake, he committed himself to the act, clawing his fingers like a tiger’s paws and mimicking a big cat’s rumbling roar like growl- and then he jumped out of the car and followed Ray’s example, hearing Griffon’s laughter caught in the wind behind him. He entered the building just before the heavy set door swung closed behind Ray, nimbly leaping inside the building. The large waiting room was practically empty- a few people once thumbing through several week old magazines and leaflets, others once staring into nothingness at their knees or ceiling, but they all stared nervously at the group of agents, shifting uneasily in their seats. Michael watched Ray offer them a smile and a soft ‘hey’ and only half of them relaxed or offered a hesitant grin in return.

The man turned to Michael, completely unaware that he wasn’t there a split second ago. “You talk to the secretary dude.” He told him, gesturing to the other side of the room where the main desk lay. Behind the counter, two officers stared at them- and as soon as Michael met their gaze, their heads dropped and the pretended they hadn’t been caught staring. “Me and most of the group will go ahead and get her, you stay here and get the paperwork sorted, yeah?”

Michael pulled a face at him. “Give me the boring job, yeah?” He growled, keeping his voice quiet, and Ray snickered.

“I want to see the look on her face. When she saw me last night she looked just about ready to keel over and die.” He patted Michael on the bicep with one hand, grinning wolfishly. “Imagine the look on her face when I bring her out to see you. It’ll be hilarious. Go ahead.”

The man was staring at him again from behind the desk, and Michael stepped towards him and away from Ray, wishing he wasn’t always lumped with the shitty jobs. He heard Ray mutter orders to his part of the group, and footsteps when they moved off. Michael turned to take in his part of the group, and he found two male officers behind him, standing as straight as arrows. Four of the agents were scurrying after Ray. It made sense- Michael didn’t need much backup to sign some damn papers.

The receptionist who served him was a tall man, towering far over Michael and he was young, his face unmarred with age. He smiled when Michael approached, but it was a brisk and purely professional expression. “Hello,” He greeted, pretending he hadn’t been slyly staring at them since they first stepped in. “Can I help?”

Michael nodded. “Jones.” He told him, the name very much meaningless to anyone else nearby- but Griffon had called ahead, and the officer’s eyes flared with recognition and immediate concern. The woman, a shorter dark haired girl beside him stiffened at the name, her eyes darting to Ray’s group as they disappeared through the door and down the hallway for the holding cells. “We’re here for Dunkleman.”

The man stared at him for a split second, probably in awe- then jerked to life as if an electrical current run through his body. “Yes!” He burst, clapping his hands together. Michael and his agents winced in perfect unison. That attracted more attention than they really wanted. He didn’t need to turn around to tell that all of the civilians in the waiting area were all gawking at them again. “Of course, has your colleague gone to get her?”

“Yeah. I gotta sort out the paperwork.”

“Oh, sure.” He turned away, patting his pockets for a pen, eyeing the tonne of metal containers that were labelled alphabetically, searching for Barbara’s folder. He pulled open the one labelled A-D and began rifling through it, picking each folder individually and checking it’s name. The woman to his left hummed some nameless tune as she worked on her computer, tapping and clicking away.

It took a full few minutes in Michael shifted, growing increasingly impatient, but eventually the man turned back to them. The blonde turned, looking up, and was halfway through rifling through the drawer hunting for the paperwork, and Michael had a split second to take in the widening eyes and the mouth that opened to scream before several minor explosions sounded in the air, and dark red spots emptied on the man’s shirt.

Instinct took over and Michael darted to one side, dropping to all fours and scuttling to the side, immediately seeking something thick enough to hide behind. He looked ridiculous, he knew, but he really doubted anyone was looking at him at this moment in time. Screams and shouts arose around him, voices merging, and Michael was unable to sift through them and find the cries of the attackers. There was a wall just a few steps away, sectioning off a small waiting area for arrested criminals who didn’t want to be seen by the other people waiting, and he crawled for it, keeping as close to the floor as he could.

Other gunshots began to ring out, piercing the air, and Michael prayed that they weren’t shooting any more of the innocents as he fumbled at the holster at his waist, yanking the gun out. He removed the safety, and held his finger on the trigger, anticipating attack at any second. He had no idea who they were here for, but considering the fact they had shot the damn secretary, he assumed they weren’t very good at distinguishing who was a combatant and who wasn’t. He had no idea where the two of his agents had gone- they hadn’t followed him, and he couldn’t see where they had gone. The screams could have been theirs, he supposed, but he hadn’t heard the sound of falling bodies.

He could see the female officer at the reception, hunched down as far away from her deceased companion as she could. She had crouched down behind the cover it provided, her knees drawn to her chest and her fingers flying at her own holster. Good. He needed the backup. He didn’t know how many gunmen there were, but once Ray and the other agents got there, they were probably outnumbered.

He took a quick breath, preparing himself, and stuck his head out from the wall. He didn’t see much, pulling back his head quickly, but he counted at least five gunmen, and all of the people in the waiting area cowering in one corner, appearing unharmed, curled up with their hands over their ears and their eyes seemingly pressed shut. He pulled back his head, and good thing too- the plaster of the wall where he had just been exploded as a bullet whizzed past his ear and connected with the wall.

“Fuck!” He yelped, unable to contain himself, and shrank back, his heart quivering in his rib cage. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” He was no longer aware at what point things went so badly south- all he knew now was that they had.

“Michael!” He heard one of two his agents yelp- and then he howled as a gunshot rang out, and fell silent after another. He didn’t know anything about the man, nothing at all, not even his name- and he found himself wishing that he did.

“Motherfucker,” He heard the other snarl, his voice slurred and thick as if his mouth were full of blood. He listened to sounds of a violent scuffle, too paranoid to stick his head around the corner again, dreading the inevitable sound of a gunshot.

The man held his own for a while, occasionally aided by Michael when he grew the balls to help, shooting blindly at the second attacker- but his agent and his enemy where tangled too close together, impossible to differentiate, and Michael couldn’t do anything. He watched helplessly when the enemy wrapped his hands around his throat- and Michael squeezed his eyes shut and retreated a mere second before he heard a loud sickening crack.

He felt sick, and he wanted to fall to his knees and heave, but he had no time. There was never any time in a firefight- time moved faster than Michael ever anticipated, and as soon as both of his agents were dead, another came along.

He heard cries of alarm, sharp but cut short by another gunshot, and then there was the thick sound of a body hitting the floor. Michael winced at the familiar noise, never getting quite used to it- but he stepped out from behind the cover, lifting his gun high, hoping to god it was someone coming to save his ass.

He trained his gun on the closest unaware assailant, and pulled the trigger. Really, he should have commanded them to stand down- but considering that he had no badge and therefore no authority in their eyes and the fact they were attacking a police station, he didn’t think yelling at them would have helped. The gun recoiled as he shot, twice for good measure, and the man went down. His gun clattered to the floor, and he fell face first. He could see that each of the men were dressed in heavy black clothes, despite their clear lack of bulletproof vests, and they each had their faces disguised with a plain white mask. Against all this darkness, Michael easily spotted a flash of gold and blue- Griffon.

One of the three men left lifted his gun, aiming for Griffon, and Michael felt a scream rise in his throat. He aimed for him, desperate and likely completely inaccurate, but she got there first, expertly shooting him directly in the throat. He twisted, reaching for his throat, but he was dead in no time at all, the spray of blood painting the walls. Griffon never flinched, and retreated back to safety, behind another little wall that sectioned off another area. She kept her gun down, and looked up, searching for Michael- and she found him within the second. Michael quickly shot at the other two, covering himself as he dashed back to his spot, and soon he was in some twisted kind of safety behind his original wall.

He considering shouting a warning to the group- there’s only two of you left and there’s three of us, I wouldn’t bother if I were you- but then, even more gunshots rang out, this time distant, and there was shrieks and cries and yells, all rising to match some twisted, frantic tempo. The officer down at the counter looked up, and turned to Michael, wide eyes brimming with horror. “The holding cells!” She seemed to hiss, and although he couldn’t hear her he could read her lips easily.

Ray and Barbara, he thought, and his body slumped in defeat. We’re being attacked by Ryan’s men. Of fucking course.

He knew what he needed to do- he needed to get himself and Griffon over to the cells, to prevent Barbara’s dashing rescue and defend her and the rest of the agents- but they were trapped in a stalemate, one they couldn’t escape. He could try to run for the door and get the girl and Griffon to cover him, but he had a feeling he would have a bullet somewhere in him before he made it anywhere close.

He was helpless, utterly so, trapped behind a wall while gunshots still rang out across the building. He stuck his head around the corner of the wall again, just as quickly as before, and saw that the attackers had turned over the table that held magazines and entertainment for waiting children, and were hiding behind there, equally as stuck as Michael’s ragtag group. Knowing most tables weren’t thick enough to prevent bullets, he tried to shoot through at one of the crouching men- but it didn’t work. The police must have paid out for special tables, and he cursed their common sense.

He sent an imploring, helpless gaze over to Griffon, and she shrugged just as uselessly, utterly unsure. They stood there usually, constantly on edge, constantly helpless, completely stuck. They couldn’t go anywhere, and the attackers seemed content staying just where they were. The waiters were still pressed up against one wall, silently, holding their breath for the end of their unexpected torment.

He considered calling out again a few minutes later, bored of the predicament and anxious to see what was going on in the holding cells. He debated his options- speak, attack, or wait- and rolled his eyes. It could have gone so easily. They could have just picked up their assassin, got her information, and gone from there.

Instead, Haywood was dancing one step ahead of them.

Again.

He growled out an infuriated curse, and he poked his head around, ignoring Griffon’s hissed ‘what the hell are you doing?’ from across the silent room- and immediately yanked his head back when he saw both of the men standing, having moved closer to the exit with both guns pointing directly at him. Another gunshot went by, too close for his liking, and he flinched. Griffon took his lead and poked her own head around- and with huge eyes, leapt out of her spot and ran after them, shooting all the while. Assuming they had made a run for it, Michael stepped out too, and saw them disappear out of the exit.

“Hey!” He yelled, dashing after his companion, gun ready in his hands. He saw and heard Griffon fire three times- and a split second after the third shot ran out, he heard a wordless bellow of agony. He rounded the corner out of the door, and spotted one man collapsed on the floor, his leg damp with blood and his dark jeans tattered. The other man ran ahead without looking back, and jumped into a silver car that had haphazardly been parked halfway on the pavement.

“Wait for me!” The injured man shouted after him, but MIchael knew by the sound of his voice that he knew it was a lost cause. The three watched as the car pulled away.

It sped off a second later, almost colliding with another driver on the way out, abandoning his last surviving partner. Michael shot at him blindly, trying to potentially burst the tires, but he failed, and the car was gone in seconds. Griffon meanwhile had jogged quite casually down the stairs, knowing her victim wasn’t going anywhere soon. He was still sprawled on the floor, his groans only interrupted when he spat out curses, and he whined in discomfort when Griffon ducked and bent his arms behind his back, hauling him up to his one good foot and making him hop over to the car, cautioning him all the while. There was a red smear of blood on the floor, and his kneecap appeared to be completely shattered.

“Griffon,” He called, retreating back up the stairs as she fished a pair of handcuffs out of the car. She looked up at him questioningly. “I’m going to help Ray.” She nodded in acceptance, quickly trapping the man’s hands behind his back, and Michael turned and ran back up, into the building. He reached out to the people in the corner, all gazing at him with hope in their eyes. “All of you go outside,” He turned to the police officer, now out from behind the counter and approaching them. “Take them out and calm them down as best you can. My friend Griffon will help.”

“Thank you.” She said, and her voice wavered with fear and exhaustion. She pushed past him, quickly moving to help the others, and Michael ran for the door that lead to the holding cells. He followed the signs, increasingly disturbed by the lack of noise, praying he wouldn’t stumble across a missing assassin and a pile of bodies.

He met Ray halfway there, and despite the swell of joy he felt seeing his friend alive he knew everything was wrong almost immediately by the expression on his face. His once proud posture was slumped, seemingly out of exhaustion rather than injury, and his gun was limply held in his hands. His head was hung. Michael dreaded what he was going to say, knowing there was no way it was good, but asked anyway.

“Barbara?” He probed, and Ray almost keened, holding his head in one hand. He was covered in blood. It wasn’t his.

“They took her back.” He confessed, and Michael fought the urge to scream.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

There was a message waiting for him on his answerphone when Michael returned home later that night, and he seriously considered pulling the damned thing out of the wall, beating it with a baseball bat, shooting it a couple of times and throwing it out the window into oncoming traffic for good measure.

Instead, he ignored it, deciding that it could wait until he had filled his yawning and neglected belly

with unhealthy food and had a boiling hot shower. Either way, the message was not going to be good news, and he didn’t want more shit piled up on his stagnant, awful day.

He threw himself into the shower first, and he stood there lifelessly, letting the water drench his skin and hair, the warm droplets pattering on his shoulders. It helped, in a way. It soothed his sore muscles, and the rhythm of the water falling soothed him, almost sending him to sleep. He knew a bath would have been a lot more beneficial, but he wasn’t in the mood for just lying in a tub of water that could boil a lobster.

He had fucked up, and instead of facing his problems and mistakes head on like a man he instead escaped custody and slunk to the nearest gym. He run on a treadmill for what seemed like hours, not caring that his legs were dangerously close to giving out and every breath burnt his throat. After that, he took a ten minute rest, and had moved on to beat the shit out a punching bag. He almost broke the damn thing, almost sent it flying. Imagining Gavin didn’t quite cut it. He wanted to imagine Ryan, imagine his smug little face now he had bested Michael for the second time, but he couldn’t.

Instead, he just imagined the the bed contained all of his problems, and he had gone to town on the damn thing.

He knew Geoff was going to be furious at his unauthorized absence- Ray had gone to report to him with his head hung, his feet dragging and Michael should have gone with him. They were only going to get abuse hurled at them by their boss, he knew, but it was all going to be so much worse when Michael finally returned. Joel and Griffon had already had their turns. God only knew what was going to happen to them, but it certainly wasn’t going to be pretty.

There was absolutely nothing they could do about it. The four of them couldn’t even defend themselves- they just had to ride out the storm that raged around them, and hope for the best. He felt more sympathetic for Griffon- she was married to Geoff with a daughter, and she had to go home with him.

But Ray was terrified for Joel’s future, and rightly so.

Michael clambered out of the shower before he began slamming his head against the tiled wall. While it would have no doubt made him feel much better, smashing his head open would have only added to his problems. He switched the shower off and gingerly stepped out, his warm and wet feet not enjoying the feel of the chilly tiles.

He could now hear his house phone ringing insistently. He let it.

Water dripped from his sodden hair and rolled down his arms and legs, splattering all over the floor. Grabbing the nearest towel, Michael rubbed his flushed pink face furiously, and ran a hand through his hair, uncaring. His skin was flushed red from the heat of his shower, and he was forced to wipe the gathered condensation from the mirror off with the edge of his towel to see himself. His skin felt overly sensitive, as it would for a few minutes longer, but he felt clean, and new, and boiling hot was how Michael liked his showers anyway. It was worth it in the end, and it had helped him calm down.

The phone stopped ringing.

He turned his back on the mirror, drying his hands with the towel he still clutched. He towelled his hair lightly, enough to stop the water from dripping all over the place, and swapped it to dry his body. He rubbed it along, the coarse material of the towel a little harsh, but he didn’t complain. He dried every inch of skin, wrapping the towel tightly and securely around his waist with a minor flourish, and took a few more seconds to appreciate the heat of the bathroom before he left. The sudden extreme temperature change between the bathroom and the hallway was like whiplash. The warm, delicate touch on his bare skin turned harsh, cold and unforgiving, sending a shiver down his spine and raising goose flesh on his arms. The floor was more forgiving- cold tiles gave way to thick carpet that soothed and warmed his feet.

Either way, now he had stepped outside the sanctuary of his bathroom, he was on edge again, no longer free from facing his responsibilities. He knew he had made a mistake, avoiding Geoff, and he was going to pay a high price very soon.

Instead of going to his bedroom to change, he entered his living room, making a beeline for his phone. The red lights that glared out at him almost accusingly read that there were three missed calls from a number he didn’t recognise and one voice mail.

He dithered a little, feeling the childish urge to ignore it and hide under the blankets on his bed until all the problems went away, but knowing this message could be important. Or hell, it might not even be from Geoff. It could be from a relative or an old friend looking to catch up.

Yeah right, Michael snorted as he built up his courage, and then pressed play.

For a second, the message was nothing but the sound of papers being shuffled around and a wrapper rustling, and the sound of vague chatter in the background. Michael almost dismissed it as some kind of spam call, but then the caller spoke. “Michael,” The woman said, and he recognised it as Kara, one of the girls who worked under Geoff. His stomach sunk like a rock. “Hi. I’m assuming you’re out, or something, but I needed to pass along a message. You have a meeting with Geoff tomorrow at five in the evening. You know the Lutece restaurant? Meet him there. Ray will be there too.” Her sure, clear voice faltered a little, and dropped in volume. “You’ll have to explain yourself there. He’s not happy. Sorry, Michael. Try to have a good evening.” With that, the rustling went on for a split second longer, before the recording stopped with a click, and the phone’s automatic voice told Michael that he had no new messages in a voice far too happy for his liking.

He reached up to touch his temples, silently, repressing the urge to put his fist through the television. He needed food. And then he needed a drink. A strong one.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

Michael knew the Lutece restaurant, even though he had never stepped foot inside it. He had walked by it a few times, and it always seemed a friendly place. The golden light that emerged from inside, leaking out into the significantly colder world was always dimmed to a comfortable level, and there was always a soft chatter and a generally calm atmosphere radiating from it. It seemed more of a glorified pub that a fully fledged restaurant, but it was. According to Joel, he had taken an ex on a date there once, and it was surprisingly inexpensive for food that tasted so good. It wasn’t exactly Nolan’s, but you could do worse. He heard that Geoff was close friends with the owner, too, a rather soft spoken woman named Rosemary.

Michael supposed that had to be true, at least to some extent, because anyone else would have asked the group to leave by now.

A dark haired woman he presumed was Rosemary was eying them worriedly, her face creased up rather alike a puppy’s in confusion and concern. She had scrambled out of the kitchen excitedly when she was told Geoff had arrived- but once she had seen the thunderous expression on his face she suddenly wasn’t so eager to see her friend, and frankly, Michael didn’t blame her.

There was a vein standing out on Geoff’s temple, and he looked like he was seconds away from closing his hands around either Michael or Ray’s throats and choking the life out of them. He had both of his elbows planted rather rudely on the table, but Michael certainly wasn’t going to tell him that, and his fingers were laced together. He gazed over his hands at both of them for a few long minutes upon their arrival, until the rather nervous looking waiter had come along and asked for their orders. They all ordered a drink- Geoff ordering the strongest booze they had, Ray ordering a glass of coke, and Michael requesting a glass and an unopened can of coke. It had gotten him a bewildered look, but he didn’t trust anyone who gave him drinks anymore- and food, and the waiter scurried away as fast as his legs would carry him. They had taken the darkest corner in the resturant, separate from the rest of the customers and most of the staff so they could ‘talk things through’. Michael wondered if the restaurant was doomed to become the setting for twin murders.

The waiter left them in a stony silence.

“How’s Griffon?” Michael eventually started weakly, wanting the entire awkward ceremony to be ended as soon as possible, and Geoff’s eye twitched.

“…I’ve spoken to her.” His boss informed the two of them, his voice even, cool and collected. It was the most terrifying thing Michael had ever heard, and that included the time his first girlfriend’s overprotective father had come home early the first night they spend together and walked into her bedroom without knocking. “She knows how I feel about,” He paused, searching for a suitable word. “Recent events. But she and Joel are not the issue right now.”

To Michael’s left, Ray shifted uncomfortably in his seat, clearly burning to ask after his lover. Michael would have been worried too, if he was his- Joel had breached security to steal Barbara’s folders, allowed an agent to take part in a job that was personal to him and had an illicit affair with said agent. While Geoff grudgingly, barely allowed relationships in the group- it would have been ridiculously hypocritical if he didn’t- he was always on the hunt for reasons to pull two agents apart, deeming it ‘unsafe’ and ‘irresponsible’.

Sometimes, Michael wanted to punch Geoff directly in his face.

Ray managed to restrain himself, just barely by the look of things. Instead he lowered his eyes to the table, looking at the small nicks and mars on the oakwood from previous clumsy diners. “I’m sorry, boss.” He murmured, and he sounded exhausted, like he hadn’t slept all night. Michael himself had trouble, but he had gotten a couple of hours and Ray sounded like he was running on empty.

“You’re sorry?” Geoff repeated, his eyebrows lifting. “You two got all of the agents under your command apart from two killed, and you’re sorry? Do you know how much trouble we’re going to get from their loved ones? Their other halves? Their children? The people who are never going to see them ever again?”

“Maybe you should keep a better eye on your rogue agents then, if we cause so much trouble for you,” Michael retorted. He was worryingly close to flying off the handle in the middle of a public place and pissing off his boss even further, but Michael never really knew when enough was enough, and at that moment he didn’t give a damn about whether or not he might hurt Geoff’s feelings. “If you’re gonna get pissy when they try to do their jobs.”

Geoff’s jaw tightened and the defined muscles in his arms flexed, the vibrant tattoos shifting. When he spoke, his voice was harsh and derisive. “Is getting innocent people killed and losing a criminal your job? Is losing incredibly important documents to some new player in the field because you wanted to go fuck one of his agents your job? In that case, forgive me.”

Ray looked just about ready to cry, and Michael wanted to slam his face into the table. Thankfully, before he could dig his grave any deeper a new waiter returned, carrying their drinks. The dejected and pained look on his face and the fact that other waiters were peering around the kitchen door at him spoke volumes- he can clearly lost some kind of game and now he had to serve them for the rest of the night. He gave Geoff his beer first, and grunting a quick ‘thanks’ he downed half of it in one go as the waiter served Ray and Michael their own. He left just as quickly as the previous man did. Michael muttered a quick ‘sorry’ before he left, but he wasn’t sure he was heard.

Geoff thumped his drink back down on the table, the liquid almost sloshing over the rim of the glass. Ray didn’t bother taking a drink of his, while Michael pried open his can and took a delicate sip. He couldn’t taste it, and it poured down his throat with difficulty.

Geoff crossed his arms on the table, and leant forward, the gears grinding in his head and his jaw set firmly. He seemed to string a few sentences together in his head, and began to recite them. “I don’t know what the hell has been wrong with you two lately, but whatever it is, it needs to stop. You’ve fucked up too many times, and you’ve cost me far too much. I want you to get yourselves together now.” He rubbed his cheek with one eye closed, his stubble scratching at his palm.“I’m going to think about what action I’ll take with you two and Griffon, and I’m going to dismiss Joel-”

Ray shot up, his back painfully straight, his fist slamming on the table. “No.”

Geoff stared at him, no longer scratching his cheek. “Excuse me?” He asked, sickly sweet, giving the man one chance to take it back.

“No. It wasn’t Joel’s fault. I made him do it.” Ray continued, bravely and stupidly. Michael wondered if it was too late to order wine. He would rather be poisoned again if he had to choose between that or sitting through their argument.

“Right, because you’re both so in love.” Geoff mooned patronizingly, dropping the pitch of his voice to sound like a young girl’s. “If he did it for you, what’s stopping him from doing it again? Doing it for someone else if he has someone on the side?”

“It’s not like that,” Ray argued back, his fingers clawing on the side of the table, his eyes flashing dangerously behind his glasses. Geoff only leant forward, and they were close enough to kiss. Or headbutt each other, which seemed much more likely in Michael’s eyes. The copper haired man tried to make himself seem smaller in his seat, hoping the ground would open up and devour him in one swift gulp.

“Then what is it like?” Geoff demanded to know, thudding his own hand against the table. Michael stared out across the restaurant blindly, not taking anything in, tuning himself out of the conversation.

So then Michael was abruptly aware of a sudden shift in atmosphere, long before Geoff and Ray were. He ignored the two, still bickering, and looked around. People’s conversations had not died, but they were lagging, quiet and soft. Some people had turned to look at the door, and had remained to stare. From behind the bar, Rosemary’s hand had clawed on the wood, and she had a faint unfriendly scowl on her face.

Michael turned his own head, curious, and saw three men entering, their movements strictly casual despite their uniformity- they wore thick black woolen coats, giving them a stuffy, traditional look. When people entered the restaurant, they were supposed to wait next to a sign for a waiter to serve them- the men didn’t. They glanced around, as if looking for someone, and Michael supposed it made sense. They were meeting someone- but as strange as it sounded, their faces didn’t make sense. At first Michael assumed it was just the vision playing with his eyesight- but when the men began to head towards them, he saw that their faces were puffy and thick and a bright shocking pink, puckered slightly at the corners of their mouths and eyes as if they had suffered horrendous, extreme burns. He stared shamelessly, lost in the moment. Rosemary stepped forward as they passed her by, casually tailing them, pretending to be pacing her restaurant.

He was suddenly aware of Geoff talking, to him seemingly, and Michael turned back, his eyes a little unfocused. “And what do you have to say for yourself? You slipped away yesterday, thinking you got away from me.” Geoff’s nostrils were flaring, and Michael had never seen him so angry. Ray was scowling deeply, too, his food lying long forgotten.

He waited for the men to pass them by before he continued his defence, and Geoff allowed that- but then there was a sudden gust of wind, a movement of air as someone moved quickly beside him, and a flash of steel before his eyes and arms around his neck, and something cold and hard pressed up at Michael’s throat.

Oh, for God’s sake.

He felt the tension in his attacker’s arm, and he knew what was going to happen if he didn’t struggle to get away. The arm was about to drag along sideways, cutting deeply, and then he would be pushed away, left to collapse over the table. Michael brought his hands up, gripping tightly at the hand and squirming in his seat, trying to overpower the stranger. He was certainly not having his throat cut today, thank you kindly. This wasn’t the Red Wedding.

He cried out, trying to give out a warning to everybody else. They all turned to stare- and then everyone in the restaurant jumped up and began screaming, like a group of banshees. Geoff shot up, the swelling fury he once felt replaced with sheer horror- and then he was grabbed too, by the second of the three men, and a knife was placed at the side of his own throat. He mimicked Michael’s reaction, and the two of them fought not to die.

Then, yet another gunshot rang out, and the attacker behind him abruptly jerked- and the grip of Michael’s throat and the knife relaxed. He was getting bored with the amount of bullets, but considering this one saved his life, he supposed he could let it slide. The man slumped on him, and Michael threw him off, pushing him backwards. The knife fell to his lap, and he grabbed it as a makeshift weapon. Thinking fast, he was about to spring forward and save Geoff- but then there was another two gunshots, both in quick succession- and a dark red dot was suddenly on Geoff’s attacker’s pink, rubbery looking forehead, and the table was covered with a mist spray of blood. Adapting quickly, Michael pushed the second man off, just as the third man was shot by some incredibly helpful saviour and killed, falling to the restaurant floor.

Michael looked up, his heartbeat thundering, his breath fast. Half of the customers and staff alike were gone, running out into the street, and the rest were still streaming through the door. Rosemary had stormed forward, and she fussed over Geoff- and by some miracle of chance or some incredible reflexes, she had a gun out, clutched in one hand.

“Did you shoot them?” Ray sounded as amazed as Michael felt, but Rosemary shook her head.

“No.” She shrugged helplessly, her hand curling on Geoff’s shoulder. “They were too fast. I only had time to grab it.”

“Then who,” Ray began, and then he was cut off as Michael shot out of his seat, determined to find the shooter who saved them.

He found him surprisingly easily. He was standing over in the corner, directly diagonal from them, his lone seat carefully drowned in shadow. He wore a thick black hoodie, pulled over his head with the strings drawn tight- and a dreadfully familiar plain white mask. He was one of Ryan’s men- and yet as soon as Michael saw him, he lifted both of his hands, and Michael saw the barrel of a pistol gleaming under the restaurant’s dim lights. He gestured in surrender, and Michael allowed it.

“Who are you?” He called over, making sure his voice was as threatening and unfriendly as possible, never letting go of the knife. Ray got up and stood beside him, peering over. Rosemary stepped aside and allowed Geoff to rise too, lifting her gun and aiming for the stranger.

“A friend.” A harsh and warped voice played out to greet them, ruined and torn but unmistakably male. A voice changer. The stranger took a few steps closer, moving so he stood in front of them several strides away. He slowly bent down while talking, placing his gun on an abandoned table and stepping away from it. “I want to help you.”

Ray and Geoff both barked twin disbelieving laughs, and Rosemary never lowered her weapon. “I bet you do,” Geoff shook his head. “Any reason why someone who works for Haywood wants to help us?”

The man shrugged, rather over exaggeratingly, like a cartoon, his hands lifting above his head. “It’s a pretty long story. One that I might be killed for telling.”

Michael arched a brow. “You could get killed now, by us, if you don’t tell.”

The man laughed, and he couldn’t tell if the noise was genuine through the changer. He shook his head. “Well, that’s a good point. But there’s a problem.” Michael hated how difficult it was to tell what someone was trying to say when he couldn’t see their facial expressions or hear the sincerity in his voice. He could only judge this man by the way he stood, and that wasn’t telling him much. The man stood tall, so he was proud and confident, but that was all Michael could tell. He felt blind, cut off, like he had lost one of his senses, and he like feeling blind. “I need you all to come with me,” The man told them, stepping closer yet. “These aren’t the only three people gunning for you.”

“What if you’re the one gunning for us?”

The man made a scratchy noise of irritation. “I’ll fucking leave you here if you want to find out who’s coming.” He retook his gun and took a few more steps forward, careful under their gaze and Rosemary’s apparently itching trigger finger but the expression on her face, but stepped closer to the now empty exit. The street outside was just as abandoned, the last customer disappearing from sight when Michael first laid eyes on the gun men. “I’m going. If you want to stay, be my guests.” Without further ado or flourish, the man was gone, shoving his gun back into his hoodie and surging out into the street. They watched him go for a long moment, striding up the street until he was out of sight, and Geoff sighed, aggravated.

“We need to go after him.” He said, and even he sounded like he despised the very idea. Michael opened his mouth to argue and Ray managed a noise of protest, but Geoff sharply cut at the air with his hand, and their jaws audibly snapped shut. “Yes, I don’t trust this guy either, but I’m not staying here mostly unarmed when people might be coming to kill us. I want us to go with him and we’ll slyly grill him for information, yeah?” At their twin nods, he turned to look at the woman next to him. “Ro-”

Rosemary pressed the gun into Geoff’s hands, and jerked her head towards the door. “Get going.” She interrupted, commanding him, and before he could argue, she shook her head. It was a role reversal that Michael hadn’t seen before- she had power and authority over him, and she wasn’t taking any of his shit. “I’m going too, I’m heading home.” She cast her eyes around her messed up restaurant, and she looked vaguely entertained but mostly exhausted. “I’m cleaning this shit up tomorrow. Go and keep yourselves safe, yeah?”

Geoff obviously didn’t like the idea, but he nodded, and Rosemary promptly left, exiting through the kitchen in a flurry of movement. Their boss jerked his head, and Michael and Ray left through the front exit without argument, practically marching like soldiers, entering the abandoned darkness of the streets.

They heard a whistle, a low sound piercing the night, and they saw the stranger standing at the end of the road, waving his arm at them. When they approached, two more men stepped out of the shadows, and Michael, Ray and Geoff were immediately set on edge. Geoff’s voice was a rumbling growl.

“Who are they?”

“Friends.” The original man stated, offering no more information. “They’re here to help. We have to separate and head in different directions to throw the guys off.” Ray made a sound of aggravated complaint, but he was silenced by one of the other men.

“Shut the fuck up.” He snapped, and he too had a voice changer. The smaller man stood there shly, his bad posture suggesting insecurity or worry, while the bigger man stood tall and proud, much like the original. All of them wore the same, or at least similar clothes, and all had guns and the white masks. “You need our help. Accept it. Get the hell over it.”

Ray flared up, disgruntled, and began to argue back with just as much profanity, but Geoff put a hand on his shoulder, and he stood down.

“Let’s just get going. No arguments.” He clapped his own hand on Gavin’s shoulder. “Good luck, you two. Remember what I said.”

While Geoff said his goodbyes, the unfamiliar group were saying their own. “Stay safe, B.” The original said to another one, a huge, bulky looking guy, and he clapped their forearms together. He bumped fists with the smaller one, before he turned back to Michael, who had watched the exchanges silently. Ray went with ’B’- was that really a good mix, Michael wondered, but he dared not question them- while Geoff stepped over and went to the smaller one, the one that was an inch or so shorter than the original man. The original stepped forward, taking Michael’s side. “We need to go. Now.”

He followed his saviour down the road without any more arguments, turning back to glance at the others when they were halfway down, just past Lutece’s. Ray was already gone with ‘B’, and he prayed that wasn’t the last time he would ever see his friend. Geoff was just slipping around the corner, and he shot Michael one last glance before he disappeared.

Michael had the sinking feeling he was doing something terribly stupid, but knew he had no other choice.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

They were alone now, several streets away from Lutece’s and the masked stranger stepped forward, reaching into the front pocket of his hoodie. He drew out another gun, the exact make of his own. He held it out for Michael to take. “I’m not expecting trouble,” He was told, the voice now softer, quieter, but still as torn. “But I bet you weren’t expecting trouble tonight at Lutece’s, either.”

“I certainly wasn’t,” He replied, taking the gun without hesitation. He felt safer now. Running around the city being ‘saved’ by a man whose fellow agents had tried to kill you several times wasn’t exactly the most intelligent thing he had ever done, but now if things got out of hand, he could defend himself. The gun was heavier than his own, and he preferred lighter weapons so he wouldn’t sacrifice speed, but it would do. He kept the safety on, just in case, but he was always ready for that to change. “I thought Geoff was going to tear me a new one for fucking up, and then that would be it.”

“Now you’ve nearly been murdered and met me.” The masked stranger was probably smiling, judging by the way he spoke. “Aren’t you lucky?”

He smiled, mirthlessly. “I suppose. But I don’t trust you.”

The man held a hand directly over his heart, and Michael heard a small gasp, the breath sucked in. “I’m insulted.” He seemed utterly scandalized.

“Sarcasm is unbecoming.” Michael reminded him, his voice deliberately sunny despite the bleakness of their situation.

“Fuck off.” He grumbled in response, and Michael couldn’t help but chuckle. “Come on. We have to go, they’ll be here soon.” He turned and jogged away, down the street, and Michael followed closely on his heels. He recognised the streets, he had walked these paths before- and he knew as soon as he stopped recognising the signs he needed to start taking note of the turns. Just in case the man turned on him. They went down several roads like this- in silence, Michael directly behind him, eyes scanning the shadows. He wasn’t expecting to see someone blatantly following him or a sniper on the rooftops, but Michael didn’t know what to expect.

Five minutes later, Michael was certainly, a hundred percent definitely lost despite his best efforts to keep track, and his apprehension was building steadily.

“Can you take your mask off?” He asked eventually, his voice loud in the evening’s silence even though he had meant to be quiet. “I don’t exactly feel safe not knowing who you are.”

“I don’t think you’ll really want me to.” The man shot back immediately. “It’s better I keep it on.”

“Take it off or I’m going.” He replied, his voice rumbling. “I don’t trust you. I don’t trust the guys who took my friends, too, and they’re fools if they trust your friends.” He knew they wouldn’t be so stupid. They both had some source of self preservation, especially Geoff. He wouldn’t have survived so long in the job if he hadn’t.

The man laughed, and the sound was like a dying engine through the voice changer. He stopped dead, Michael almost crashing into him, and planted his hands on the other side of his hips. “That’s not much of a threat. I don’t care if you go.”

Michael scowled deeply at him, wanting nothing more than to shoot the smarky motherfucker in the face. The only thing stopping him was the fact he was well and truly lost, and had no idea where this man was leading him. it could have easily been a trap, in fact it most likely was- but why would he have been given a fighting chance in the form of a gun? “Well, then. Thanks for the gun, asshole.” He waved at him patronizingly before flipping him the middle finger and pivoting where he stood, storming off back down the street.

It only took four seconds.

“Wait.” The garbled voice called out after him and Michael beamed, victorious. He quickly smoothed it over to a blank expression before he turned and faced the man. “If you want me to stay, take it off.” He demanded once more.

It was hard to tell with the mask, but he was positive he was being stared at. He wasn’t even sure how- there didn’t seem to be any eye holes, but there didn’t seem to be a voice changer either and the man had yet to walk into a brick wall- there must have been several things special about the mask. Michael waited patiently for an answer, hoping for a ‘fine’- and he smiled when the man growled in irritation, but flicked the safety on and shoved his gun back in his hoodie pocket carelessly despite the dangers. He untightened the strings and pulled down his hood, reaching behind him to grasp the back of the mask.

He saw the tufts of wild, dark hair, and before the mask was even fully pulled off, he had the gun trained on Gavin, his finger on the trigger and ready to squeeze at any second.

When Gavin tossed the mask to the floor and finally noticed his predicament, his thick brows furrowed and his eyes rolled like bright green marbles. “I knew you were going to do that,” He complained, whining like a petulant child, his voice now undisguised and clear. Michael scolded himself for not recognizing the accent and putting two and two together. “For God’s sake, mate, I just saved your life. We’re in the middle of a public street.”

“I could kill you right now.” Michael growled, hating the way his arm shook, his aim wavering. “I could shoot you right in the heart. I should.”

Gavin huffed out a sigh, pressing his lips together and holding his hands up in the air for the second time that night. Michael wasn’t sure if it was a gesture of surrender or ‘I give up.’ Judging by the look on the man’s face, it could have easily been both. “Okay, alright.” He spoke simply. “Whatever, man.”

Michael took a fast step forward, hoping to unsettle him. Gavin never flinched. “You don’t care? You don’t think I should?” He jabbed the gun in his direction, almost accusingly.

“I think you should shut up.” He said, daringly, and Michael glared at him. “You can shoot me if you like. Try to get home. Try to survive. Or, you can let me keep you safe and I can tell you about the guys who tried to kill you.” He offered, and Michael paused, and considered that for a moment. He had no reason to trust him, no reason at all. But he had stuck his neck out for him, killing the men in the restaurant, and had given him a gun, for god’s sake. The promise of information about the men was tempting, too. Even if it was lies or false, it might give Geoff a place to start.

And what was stopping him from turning around and killing him as soon as Michael knew he was safe? Or starting the hunt again tomorrow when this horrifically busy night was finally finished?

His stream of thoughts was interrupted by Gavin’s voice. “If you’re going to kill me anyway, I think you should know that you’ve still got the safety on.” Gavin pointed out, sounding bored out of his skull, and Michael felt the sudden flush that burned on his cheeks. He dropped his arm, the gun by his side.

“I’m not going to kill you, then. Just tell me everything you know, and let’s get the hell out of here.”

He watched that awfully familiar smirk reappear, the one that haunted his dreams, but it was different. Thinner. Smaller. Faker. Gavin’s eyes were duller than he recalled, and vivid purple and grey bags lay underneath them. Michael thought it was perhaps a guilty conscience- then he almost laughed aloud at himself. This man had no guilt, and certainly no conscience. But he turned away, gesturing with the gun for Michael to follow, and he did.

He was led through the warren of the city, along suspiciously empty main roads and dark side streets, occasionally creeping down narrow, almost invisible alleyways. They avoided stepping under bright streetlights and walking past the groups of people that occasionally passed or still open stores or pubs. They made as little sound as possible when they moved. They were winding and weaving a trail that would be difficult for the people chasing them to follow- Michael himself could barely keep up with Gavin. Michael never felt safe with him, especially since the mask was removed, but he couldn’t do shit.

“You know I work for Ryan,” He began, and Michael nodded his head once. “Those men in the restaurant were assassins. Sent by him. He didn’t like what happened at the police station, didn’t like the fact you managed to catch Barbs, so he wanted to put a quick end to you lot and sent them after you.” He ran a hand through his hair, and Michael watched the dark tufts brush through his long thin fingers. “A couple of people told him that he should have sent them individually, would have been a lot more successful, but he wanted all of you dead at once in a public place. Wanted to send a message.” Gavin chuckled, low in his throat, and the sound was bitter. “The Mad King Ryan does as he likes.”

The Mad King, Michael thought, and he grimaced. That wasn’t a person he wanted to be in the bad book of. He wanted to ask how he earned that name, but he felt like he didn’t want to know, and he had another burning question. “How did he know what happened at the police station?”

That earned him a smile, just for him. It was mocking and tense, everything Michael never wanted in a smile. He was gazed at for a long moment, even as they walked. “You have a traitor in you team.” He told him, very matter of factly, and the words hit him like a fist in the guts.

He stopped walking. “Who?” He demanded to know.

“I don’t know.”

Michael’s grip on his gun tightened to an almost impossible degree. He was surprised the metal didn’t bend and contort underneath the pressure. “Sure you fucking don’t.” He growled, infuriated. “Who is it?”

The group was like a little family to him. It was incredibly large and fucked up and he hated most of them, but that was family to Michael. Ray was his annoying little brother who he wanted to hug and throttle at the same time. Geoff was the dad he spent most of his time rebelling against, who was an asshole most of the time but cool on other occasions. Griffon was technically the mother, but she acted more like the awesome aunt who gave you secretly sweets when your parents wouldn’t let you. Kara was his little sister, the sweet girl who had the face of an cherub and the morals of the devil. Joel used to be his uncle figure, but apparently now he was his blood brother’s uncle, which was kind of creepy. But all the others were his family too- Lindsay who brought him coffee when things got hard, Gus who always made him laugh, all the others who did little things to make him happy.

And one of them was lying to his face.

“I genuinely don’t know!” Gavin lifted his hands again, his eyes wide and expressive. “Ryan doesn’t trust anyone. He keeps those secrets for himself. If I knew, I would bloody well tell you. I’ve already risked and sacrificed enough trying to save you.”

Michael snorted. “Like what?” He itched to shoot the little bastard, but knew he needed to know more about the traitor. “You saved my life, sure, but what the fuck have you sacrificed?”

He didn’t know quite what he had said wrong, but he said something, and Gavin flared, suddenly furious. He stormed forward and grabbed a fistful of Michael’s jacket, and the man had no time to go for his gun. “Those assassins were my friends.” He hissed, directly in his face and Michael felt flecks of saliva on his face. “They were misguided and they were wrong, but they were my friends, and I killed them to keep you safe. Now I’m a traitor. So shut the fuck up when you say I haven’t sacrificed anything for you.”

He felt guilty- but he certainly wasn’t going to let his regret show, no matter how strong it was. He wasn’t sure if he would have done the same and gone so far for Gavin- and now that he thought about it, he wasn’t even sure what their relationship was. Did it have a name? They were by no means friends- but acquaintances or enemies didn’t kill the friends so they could live another day.

Also, friends didn’t poison friends and shoot their other friends.

Michael stared at him, reading his body language, his posture, his expression. “You don’t know who the traitor is.”

“No,” He told him, and Michael read him and believed him. “But I can tell you who betrayed you today.” Gavin grinned, like a cat who swallowed the cream. “Rosemary.”

Michael blinked. “Rosemary?”

“Working for Ryan. Apparently might even have a thing for him.” He told him, smugly, and began walking again. Michael followed him unquestionably out of curiosity, and he hadn’t realised it was a trick until later. He had to remember that one and use it himself one day. “Spying on Geoff for years. She was there to finish you off once the customers had run if the assassins failed. That’s why she had the gun- but she didn’t touch any of you because I was there, and she knew she couldn’t take on three guys when one had a knife and another had a gun. Now she knows I’m betraying Ryan. So yeah, I’m kind of screwed if my plan doesn’t kick in.” He laughed nervously, but Michael was still thinking and frowning.

“But I thought there were assassins coming after us just in case the previous ones failed? Were they a third back up?”

There was a long pause.

“I think I should be honest with you.” Gavin suddenly spoke up, his voice sheepish, and Michael groaned.

“No one’s coming after us, right?”

“I just said that so I could get you away from Rose. But don’t worry- I have a fourth friend watching the restaurant. She knows I’m going against Ryan, now- so they’re going to deal with her.”

“You seem to have friends everywhere.” Michael commented, giving him a sideways look. “You’re very trustworthy. Look where that got Ned Stark.”

He didn’t seem affected by the idea of being thrown in a dungeon and eventually executed, with his head left on a spike. He just smiled sunnily, and winked at him. “If I’m Ned Stark, who does that make you?”

“I’m not even having this fucking conversation with you.” Michael told him, somewhat stormily, and Gavin laughed it off. There was tension riding in the air again, one they couldn’t dispel despite their greatest efforts. “Not far now.” He heard the other agent say, and he only grunted in reply.

They kept running in the warren of the city, like test lab rodents forced into a maze, running under a scientist’s voyeuristic supervision. It began to rain, only a light drizzle, but it was the kind that penetrated deep, seeping into your clothes and skin until it touched your worn and weary bones. The turned left, turned right, crossed roads, slipped into alleys, even broke into a closed up game store to use it’s back entrance instead of going around the long way. Gavin was silent, and dedicated to keeping him safe.

And the question of exactly why Gavin was doing this for him kept ringing in his head, alongside all the suspicion and concern and mind numbing fear that he tried not to let overtake him. He was ruled by his heart rather than his head, and that was his hubris. He didn’t want to ask, a little afraid of the answer. But it kept nagging at him, irritating him, plaguing him like the dreams of Gavin touch, and eventually, it just burst out without his control or permission.

“Can I ask why you saved me? Why you’re doing all this for me? I’m not on your side.”

Gavin abruptly stopped, and Michael had the awful feeling he had just boldly intruded on a sensitive subject. The tension escalated, the air suddenly thick and muggy, difficult, almost impossible to breathe. He wished he hadn’t asked.

He began to stutter out an apology, even though a angry and surprisingly logical voice in him declared he had nothing to apologise for, but Gavin beat him too it.

“None of it matters now.” Gavin waved a hand dismissively. “We’re basically here now.” He ducked into the mouth of a nearby alleyway, and Michael’s heart leapt up to his throat in fear, but Gavin rested his gun on top of a steel bin, and turned to him, defenceless. He looked tired, and damp, and exhausted. “There’s a hotel a few streets away. It’s kinda crappy, but it’ll do.” He dug in his jean pockets, fishing for something, and he eventually pulled out a key. It had a little blue tag attached to it, seemingly bearing a room number. “Stay there for the night. You’ll be safe there, they won’t find you.” He pressed the key firmly into his hand. “Go home tomorrow morning, and meet up with your little agent buddies. Plan whatever you’re going to plan. But do try to leave me and my friends out of it, yeah? I did help you, after all.”

“Thank you.” Michael spoke stiffly, curling the keys in his hand, feeling a sharp point of metal against his soft palm. He avoided the clear question Gavin had asked- what are you going to do next- because he didn’t know the answer to that himself. “I suppose I owe you one.”

Gavin snickered. “I suppose you do.” He replied, smiling, languid and lazy, and then moved forward, cupping both of Michael’s cheeks in his hands, and kissed him.

It was nothing but simple lip contact at first, soft and plain and gentle, but in no way hesitant or unsure. Gavin’s hands were firm on Michael’s cheeks, and the agent couldn’t have pulled away even if he wanted to. He hated himself, but he didn’t want to. The kiss was a sudden u-turn, and now Michael was heading down a road he really, really didn’t want to go down, but he had his feet planted on the glass and his hands off the wheel.

Michael felt like the world’s greatest fool, but he closed his eyes and pressed closer, parting his lips and tilting his head to the side. He reached out and planted his hands on Gavin’s hips, dropping the keys with a soft metallic sound on the floor and feeling his hips underneath the hoodie. Gavin was a great deal skinnier than he remembered, his hip bones seemingly more prominent, and when Michael’s hands slipped underneath to feel his warm skin, he seemed an awful lot more brittle. He ran his fingers across the skin, letting gooseflesh rise.

Gavin started, caught off guard by Michael’s daring- but, not to be outdone, he edged his tongue against his companion’s, letting sparks ignite and make their bodies tremble. Michael sighed into his mouth, his breath hot and inappropriate and perfect. The air they shared crackled with only partially resolved tension, and it only amplified when Gavin’s hands slipped down, sliding against Michael’s body.

Michael’s tongue swept over Gavin’s lower lip, and the two men answered every single challenge one gave with another. It was only a matter of time before they were tangled together, hips flush, heat arching together, limbs laced, trapped in each other. Gavin’s hands slid down Michael’s lower back to his ass, reaching down and grasping firm handfuls. The auburn haired man gasped against his mouth, his lips parting subconsciously, and he was suddenly aware that both his and Gavin’s cocks were hard, noticing for the first time the arousal that thrummed through his veins.

Gavin pushed him forward, pressing against the wall, not hurriedly but surely, keeping him pinned to the hard wall. It was cold, rough and a little damp with mould, but Michael didn’t feel any of it, lost in the touches and kisses. Gavin rocked his hips against his, steadily, reaching down to cup both of his hands around Michael’s backside, gripping firmly.

“Fuck,” Michael breathed when Gavin’s hips rolled against him, his movements sure and confident, and he reached up more more uncertainly, wrapping his arms around Gavin’s shoulders, praying that neither of them were seen. He didn’t know what he was doing, he should have put a bullet in the bastard’s brain but instead he was fucking let him rutt against him like a horny teenager after prom. It didn’t make sense. But that didn’t mean he wanted it to stop. Quite the opposite.

Michael instead pulled him closer, tucking his head into Gavin’s shoulder. He couldn’t help but inhale his scent, sticking his nose into his hair and letting it tickle him. He remembered at the party weeks ago he wore expensive cologne, but now he hadn’t bothered disguising himself. He smelt of sweat and shampoo, a fruity aroma he couldn’t place. It was sweet and powerful, overwhelmingly so. His hands tightened around Gavin’s shoulders and he bucked his own hips, trying to take control and reach his end quicker.

It had to end eventually, and it did. They weren’t necessarily concerned with who came first or who received more pleasure- they just wanted to come and be done with it.

Gavin’s hips eventually stuttered and the intense look of concentration on his face faltered. His mouth swung open against Michael’s, kiss damp and softened, and he moaned as he came. But he continued to thrust his hips a few extra times, his rhythm long lost and moved and rotated until Michael himself seized up and gasped, feeling wet warmth seep through his boxers. With his orgasm, the tension in his body melted away, making his limbs feel limp and heavy. Gavin turned his head and nipped hard at Michael’s bare throat, groaned faintly.

They stayed like that for a while, catching their breaths, letting themselves calm. All the while, Gavin was nibbling playfully at his neck like a content rabbit with a carrot, and it felt absolutely ridiculous. Eventually, Gavin shifted, and Michael drew his head back with a heavy exhale to gaze at him.

Gavin was staring at him, his expression pensive. The tip of his tongue was poking through his teeth. “I poisoned you two weeks ago after fucking you and you just let me make you come in your pants?”

Michael bit the inside of his cheek in an attempt to hold back a sharp sarcastic comeback, but it didn’t help. “I’m considering it an apology.” He told him, his voice still a little breathy, and Gavin’s eyes crinkled with life and he laughed. It was beautiful.

It didn’t take long for the discomfort to come after his orgasm dried in his boxers, and Michael groaned when Gavin pulled away from him, the faint sweat sticking and the cold night air replacing the man’s warmth as Gavin ducked to snatch for the keys. But he appreciated the space to breathe, at least. He watched as Gavin reached to the edge of his hoodie and abruptly pulled it up, over his head, baring himself to the cold air. He wore only a thin grey shirt, flimsy and inappropriate for the recent weather. Michael frowned, stepping away from the wall, a little suspicious. “What are you doing?”

Gavin didn’t reply, but flashed him a grin. It didn’t comfort him as he remembered what happened the last time they shared orgasms. Gavin practically waltzed over to the bins where they had- rather foolishly, in retrospect- left their weapons, and wrapped the guns up in his hoodie with the hotel keys and returned to press the thick bundle into Michael’s hands.

“I need you to get rid of these.” He told him. “Without letting anyone know you had them. Can you do that for me?”

There were hundreds of things he wanted to say- questions to ask, insults to throw, statements to tell him, but instead he only nodded, and said “Yes.”

The relief in Gavin’s eyes was powerful, almost overwhelming. “Thank you.” He pressed a dry, closed mouth kiss to his cheek, and with one last impish smile that made Michael feel like his bones had been torn free from his skin, Gavin turned on his heel and walked away.

Love ‘em and leave ‘em, huh, Gavin?

Michael watched him go for the briefest of moments. Then, he unwrapped the neatly folded hoodie and stared down at the mass of gleaming metal, his brows furrowed. He looked up, watching how Gavin’s lithe hips seemed to sway and his traitor tongue felt heavy and thick in his throat.

“Gavin?” Michael called after him, unspeakably proud at the way his voice never faltered or broke. Gavin turned around, his eyes alight with curiosity, and Michael wordlessly yanked out and lifted one gun and emptied the entire magazine into his chest.

Gavin’s body jerked with each gunshot, staggering backwards, and it was as if he was a helpless puppet on a string, made to dance by some mad puppet master. It was like a current of electricity had shot through him, making him quiver and tremble. Michael kept squeezing the trigger even after the bullets had run out, and he let it click as he watched Gavin crumple and slump to the floor. His once grey shirt was sodden with blood and his expression was lax, lifeless.

Michael’s arm swung back down heavily, and he looked at the corpse of the man who had betrayed him. It was over and done so suddenly. It was quiet now, after the impossibly loud gunshots. The city around him seemed to be abandoned, long dead. It seemed a lot emptier, too. It was less full now Gavin had been forcefully removed from it. He wasn’t sure whether he liked it or not.

Revenge didn’t taste quite how he expected it to. It wasn’t the grand explosion of incredible taste and sensation, fireworks in the sky, the perfect first kiss. It was bland. The grey slush that remained after pure snow.

He saw Gavin, broken and bleeding on the floor, and despite everything, he didn’t smile.

But he persevered. He tucked the gun back away, carefully, resting the keys on top of the spent weapon. He rested the bundle on one of the steel bins and crossed the street to get to Gavin. His body was small on the grey and cold pavement.

He gathered Gavin’s corpse up in his arms like a baby, scooping him up and almost cradling him. Michael would have been worried about how light he was if he wasn’t dead. He was warm and soft still, disconcertingly limp, and Michael wondered just how long it would take until the heat would leave, leaking out of his skin to never return.

He carried him up the alleyway, carefully holding him at a distance so the blood wouldn’t seep into his own clothing. His shirt was ruined with bullet holes and life blood, and Michael could admit that it was a shame someone so pretty suffered such a violent end. He came up to a skip, filled almost to the brim with black rubbish bags and random objects, like a few planks of wood, plastic bottles, shoes and other abandoned items. He lifted himself up on his tiptoes, and laid Gavin inside, settling him down carefully. He tucked Gavin’s long legs inside, folding his arms over his chest, and pulled a few of the bags over him, covering him just enough to hide his body from view unless someone deliberately peered inside.

He hovered for a while after settling himself back down on his feet, uncertain. He flexed his hands and wrists, steadying himself, wondering if he should do anything.

Do what?

He didn’t know.

Michael shook his head at himself and walked away, returning to the bin where he left the hoodie. He picked it up, cradling it close. He felt cold now, in the darkness, all alone. He wanted to get to the warmth and safety of the hotel, and soon. The police would find his victim, if not in the morning, the evening. And Michael wouldn’t be around any longer. Gavin’s death would be a sad mystery, and it would all be forgotten about within the month at most.

Michael tugged at a curl, somewhat agitatedly. He spared a glance at the skip where Gavin lay bleeding- and tore himself away, heading down the street, and pushing the memory of the irritating, charming, dead little Englishman from his mind.

 

x-x-x-x-x

 

The memory was harder to push and keep away than he thought.

The night in the hotel was not the best. The sheets were clean and the staff didn’t ask any inconvenient questions or probe into his business, and that’s all he really ever wanted in a hotel. But sleep didn’t come easy.

He supposed he thought killing Gavin would bring him some kind of otherworldly peace. He would crawl into bed afterwards and fall asleep as soon as he shut his eyes, have his first night of interrupted sleep for weeks, and wake up feeling as fresh as a daisy. He would feel lightened afterwards, happier, less angry at everyone and everything. He would be able to relax, and all the plaguing dreams would go away.

They didn’t.

He dreamt of blood. On his hands, in his hair, in his eyes. It was everywhere, and it wasn’t his. It stung. He dreamt of kisses, Gavin’s mouth easing down his bare stomach, his harsh lips agitating his skin as he shuddered. He dreamt of nails, and teeth, and knives against his throat. Blood as hot as fire and metal as cold as ice.

He woke up with a start, and he was simply glad he hadn’t screamed.

He was happy, or rather content later the next afternoon when he was home, in his apartment, free of the two guns, the hoodie and his stained underwear. He stood in the middle of his living room, burdenless, a free man. He didn’t feel like one. His belly was empty, and declaring its intention to devour itself if he didn’t eat immediately. His sticky, sweaty body ached, and demanded to be washed. It also demanded a good nights sleep. He needed new underwear. He needed headache tablets.

From across the room, he could see he had six missed calls. No new messages. Probably Geoff or Ray, he assumed. He didn’t care how frantic they were- they could wait while he peeled off all of his layers and made himself feel human again.

He began running a bath, stripping off and devouring a lazily slapped together chicken sandwich while he waited for the tub to fill. When it was finished, he sank inside, enjoying the way the hot water enveloped him. He leaned back his head and sighed, almost wistfully.

The home phone began to ring only a few minutes into his relaxation and he ignored it in favour of closing his eyes and resting, listening to it die only a few moments later. There was no message left for him.

He hummed to himself softly, a favourite song of his, letting it echo in the room. He pressed his feet up against the other side of the bath, wishing he had a radio. The phone rang again a minute later, shrilly. He splashed the still warm water in his face, cleaning the sweat from his skin. He contemplated washing his hair, as if hoping to wash his dark thoughts away, but feeling lazy, he didn’t want to bother.

The phone rang again, and he rolled his eyes at the caller who didn’t get the damn idea. He wasn’t picking up. He still let it ring, but he turned his head to the door, wondering if this time they would finally leave him a message. They did.

The answering machine clicked and jutted for a few seconds, attesting to it’s age. He needed a new one, he had needed it for the past few months, but he was too lazy to go out and get one. It clicked again, sounding like an insect, and played the message being left.

“Michael.” An impossible voice purred from the answering machine, and the agent’s heated blood ran uncomfortably cold. “That wasn’t very nice of you.”

Michael was up immediately, scrambling out of the bath, his feet slipping on the porcelain, water spilling over the sides and splashing everywhere. He didn’t bother drying his feet or toweling his hair- only snatching up something to cover himself, running down the hallway, speeding to his living room.

The man was still speaking, lower pitched than usual, and Michael could practically hear his pout. There was the noise of traffic on his side- the loud rumble of cars and trucks, the pedestrians being shouted at by angry drivers, horns of cars blaring. He thought he could hear the sounds of a restaurant’s ambience too- the low hum of incomprehensible chattering voices and the sound of cutlery being mashed together or dropped on porcelain. Michael snatched for the phone, and when his wet fingers curled around it, it slipped out of his hand, thudding to the carpet. He smoothed a hand down his towel, halfheartedly drying it, and grabbed for it again, this time more successfully. He pressed it to his ear.

“How?” He demanded to know, his voice broken and hysterical. He didn’t care if the neighbors heard or complained. “How are you still alive?!”

There was a still silence over the other end of the line, the only noise being the cars, the cutlery and Michael’s own desperate, dog like pants. He couldn’t even hear the living dead man breathe. But Michael knew he was smiling with satisfaction and pleasure, the crooked man smiling a crooked grin.

“A bullet proof vest and cackle bladder blood, Michael.” Gavin eventually supplied. “It’s quite simple. And apparently very effective.” A snicker sounded. “I’ll see you soon. Have a nice Christmas.”

 

With that Gavin hung up, and Michael threw the phone against the wall and watched it explode into pieces.


End file.
